Aside from Justine's request to hit Hooters for wings in her ninth month of pregnancy, to which Rev Run replied, "I think, thou shalt not go to Hooters as a priest," the only other comical moment in tonight's premiere of Run's House was Jojo's recounting of Run's having once dreamed about dancing pancakes in cowboy boots.
"Did you want pancakes or something?" Angela shouted out, laughing. It was hard not to laugh along with her even though I had been sobbing moments earlier.
By now, any of us who follow Joseph, Justine, Vanessa, Jojo, Angela, Diggy, and Russy Simmons know about the sad passing of their baby, Victoria Anne Simmons, who died on the day of her birth in September. Most of us probably saw clips of tonight's episode on Oprah last week. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I cried my eyes out watching then and gave a repeat performance this evening. With an encore.
But Rev Run doesn't want our pity. He respects and appreciates our sympathies and condolences, but would prefer to move on, to be grateful for everything he has, to live the happy life he has cultivated with his family. He would like Russy to continue to roll around on his Heelys and Diggy to keep skating.
About thirty minutes prior to tonight's premiere, I had just watched a TIVOed episode of last season's finale. Sap and sucker that I am, I cried as Rev decided to let his girls go and expressed his great excitement over the new life that would be joining the family nine months later. I'd been looking forward to seeing new episodes of Run's House for weeks, but I was worried that I wasn't going to make it through a season of Justine's pregnancy and anticipation for the baby's arrival, knowing what was to come.
But learning from Rev's example (and his Oprah interview, of course!), I already knew he didn't want to linger in grief. As he told Russy, "Don't let other people take us out of our joyful life." So if that was Rev's request, I was going to do my best to enjoy Run's House as much as ever so that I wasn't one of those other people. If the Rev had the faith and strength with which to find utter joy in the face of abject sorrow, then the least I could do was watch his show without wallowing in my own neurotic anxieties.
The other day, Stu and I were listening to Al Green. When Jesus is Waiting came on, I shouted out, "Ooh! My favorite!" It really is my favorite Al Green song. Swear.
Stu asked, "What is it with you and African American preachers?"
I do seem to have a bit of a thing.
I don't know what it is. I think it's that when you spend the majority of your days and nights like a female version of Woody Allen's character in Hannah and Her Sisters, constantly battling an existential crisis over the impossibility of figuring out the meaning of life and being nauseated by the being and nothingness of it all, it's hard not to be attracted to the likes of Al and Rev who live with so much joy. Their faith seems to be the link, so maybe I'm drawn to them because I feel like they'll give me the one thing I'm missing (just like Woody Allen attempting to convert to Christianity!). Hey, for all I know, maybe Jesus is waiting (but don't tell my mom cuz she might still be worried about that Jews for Jesus thing). Probably not for me, what with the Jewish thing and all, but still, the faith in something, anything, seems nice. It seems exuberant. It seems just like what Woody Allen's character found in a movie theater watching the Marx Brothers. And I could definitely have faith in that.
Duck Soup or dancing pancakes, anyone? Or maybe just Hooters. For the wings.
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